


Things That Go Bump in the Night

by apoptoses



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rimming, general ridiculousness, post-season 3, who isn't afraid of cannibals but is scared of ghosts, will is a noisy lay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 02:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8269456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apoptoses/pseuds/apoptoses
Summary: "Did you hear that?" Will asks Hannibal.
"I heard you moan, if that's what you're asking."
"No. The weird noise upstairs. I think..." Will begins and swallows hard. "I think we have a ghost. A sex ghost."





	

"Oh fuck, right there."

Will bites his lip and struggles to keep himself from arching up and sliding his cock down the back of Hannibal's throat. Every cell in his body is screaming for release but he's not done enjoying himself. 

Of all the things he expected Hannibal Lecter to be - serial killer, abuser of tartan fabric, top notch egg scrambler - world class blowjob giver was not one of them.

Toes curled into the sheets, Will reaches up to grasp at his pillow and misses; hand banging loudly into the headboard. Somewhere in the space of above the dusty ceiling, something bangs back.

"Did you hear-" Will begins to ask, but his question is cut off with a gasp as Hannibal takes him all the way in. His nose brushes against Will's groin and that's it, show's over. 

Hannibal licks the traces of Will's release off his lips, and Will falls asleep without another thought spared to the noise.

\---

The mansion they've settled into is what someone on HGTV would call a real 'fixer-upper'. Will would call it a 'dilapidated shit heap', and 'too much work for one man and one prissy ex-surgeon to restore'. It's a good hiding spot, though, and it has incredible fire places so he's willing to weather the winter there.

He's curled up on an old damask sofa, blankets wrapped around him and a book in his lap when Hannibal squeezes in beside him.

"I see you've found something of interest in the library," Hannibal says, peering over Will's shoulder at his reading material.

"Yeah, well. Something of interest and something that's actually written in English aren't necessarily overlapping qualities." Will marks his page with a slip of paper and sets the book on the end table. "Besides, I've already read the Illiad."

Hannibal takes advantage of their position to lay him back against the cushions, lips brushing against the sensitive spot beneath Will's ear. "Perhaps tomorrow we can go into the city and visit a bookstore."

Humming in lieu of a real response, Will stretches out and lets himself be worshipped. Hannibal works his neck over, lavishing it with bites and kisses until Will is grinding against his thigh. He tangles his fingers into Hannibal's hair and groans when he sucks at Will's throat, just over his jugular.

Thump.

"Stop," Will gasps. "Stop, stop."

Hannibal is the picture of confusion, brows furrowed and hair tousled. In any other situation Will would have laughed but the strange thud upstairs has stolen his attention.

"Did you hear that?" he asks Hannibal.

"I heard you moan, if that's what you're asking."

"No. The weird noise upstairs. I think..." Will begins and swallows hard. "I think we have a ghost. A sex ghost."

Hannibal sits up. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, it only happens when we're fooling around, and you make me get loud and it just gets pissed off or something," Will says.   
He knows exactly how stupid it must sound. "This is the third time I've heard it."

Hannibal licks his lips. Will knows that particular tick of his well; it's the one he uses to call upon whatever self-restraint his has left in the face of an obnoxious situation. 

"Long ago, Franklyn suggested that he and I might form a bond over tyromancy-"

"You mean fortune telling with cheese? What does that have to do with-"

"Yes. At the time I found the idea the most preposterous thing I had ever heard," Hannibal cuts him off and says. "But now I believe a homophobic ghost has taken over that position."

"Look, if you're just gonna mock me-" Will begins and moves to get up off the couch, face red with embarrassment.

"Will. Darling." Hannibal puts a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. "It's an old house. You know very well they sometimes creak, particularly in winter when the pipes are prone to freezing. And should you hear it again, I promise I will investigate the attic, but for now we should put it out of our minds. Is that acceptable?"

Will picks at the edge of a blanket. He feels like a child, telling his father to check under the bed for monsters. "Yeah. That sounds like a good plan."

Hannibal smiles, teeth sharp in the light of the fire. "Now. Where were we?"

\--

Will manages not to worry about the noise for all of two days. Hannibal is right, he rationalizes. With the pipes heating up and cooling back down all the time something is bound to creak and groan, especially when said pipes were probably put in while Marie Antoinette was still alive. 

Creaky pipes.

Totally not a ghost.

Right.

Still, he keeps an eye out for anything out of the ordinary; pictures moved, missing objects, cold spots. 

The house is silent as the grave.

\---

A blizzard hits with shocking force. Will has dealt with snow in Wolf Trap, but this is a different beast entirely. Hannibal had insisted on getting extra groceries every time they went to the market, and Will finds himself grateful for it when he looks outside and sees snow piling up and covering the lower half of the windows. 

Hannibal drowns out the howl of the wind with the piano in the afternoons, and then later, in the evenings, with Will's whimpers. Will doesn't mean to bite the pillows as much as he does, but the last thing he needs is to end up in his own living version of The Shining. 

"How is the ghost situation?" Hannibal asks as they curl up in bed, blankets pulled up around their faces to keep out of the cold.

Will shrugs. "I haven't heard anything the past couple days."

"See? Just as I said."

Hannibal kisses Will goodnight and settles in to sleep. Will stares up at the ceiling, but the only thing he hears is the wind whistling outside.

\---

"You know, if we keep eating and fucking until winter is over we're either going to come out of this place very fit or very fat," Will says as Hannibal shoves their bedding to the floor.

"Perhaps we'll have to take a bet on that. Turn over."

Will gets to his knees, watching snow streak past the window while Hannibal strips off the remainder of his clothing and crawls up on the bed behind him. 

Hannibal licks a hot, wet path up the back of his thigh. He does this every chance he gets; he loves eating Will out. Because it’s the closest he'll get to actually eating me, Will thinks until Hannibal's tongue is pressing inside him and all conscious thought is wiped away.

Will's face burns red when Hannibal grips his ass, spreading him open. This he does every time too, staring at Will spread wide and vulnerable, as if he's curious about whether Will will draw away in embarrassment. It's a power play and Will is never entirely sure which response will give him the upper hand.

After a struggle with his instincts, Will thrusts his hips back. "Come on, don't screw around," he pants.

He can see Hannibal's wolfish smile in his mind. Will reaches out, yanking at the sheets as Hannibal's tongue thrusts into him again. He fucks him with his mouth in earnest, no time wasted on teasing, until he has to hold Will's hips to keep him from grinding back onto his face. 

Face buried in the crook of his own arm, Will spreads his legs further. Hannibal's fingers are good, but the warm, slick press of his tongue is incredible. When Hannibal reaches between his thighs to curl his fingers around his cock he moans, loud and-

Thud.

Will sits straight up, ass knocking into Hannibal's face.

"Are you fucking kidding me," Will pants. "See? It's a ghost. It has to be. It only happens-"

Hannibal rubs at the bridge of his nose as crawls off the bed. From the look in Hannibal's eye alone Will would be afraid for the ghost, if it wasn't already dead.

"Yes, darling. Yes." Hannibal hops as he steps back into his pajama pants. "I will go investigate."

He pulls a robe on, ties the sash tightly, and sweeps out of the room. Will's stomach clenches.

He's been up to the attic just once. There's a long, winding staircase at the end of the hall; the rise on the steps so high Will had been winded by the time they reached the top. He can hear Hannibal mount each step, the creak of wood echoing down the hall.

Hannibal hadn't even taken a flashlight with him. Will worries about him stumbling around in the maze of sheet-covered furniture and old paintings, heart pounding more with each second that ticks by.

Thud. The sound is louder this time.

"Christ, I sailed across the Atlantic twice for this mad man and now I've sent him to die at the hands of an angry poltergeist," Will mutters to himself.

There's the sound of a struggle, the scrape of furniture against the floor. Hannibal swears. Will contemplates bundling up in a blanket and going to investigate for himself, but as soon as he moves to get off the bed the noise abruptly stops.

He holds his breath until he can hear Hannibal's footsteps coming back down the stairs.

Hannibal has a large box in his arms. His robe has fallen open, but he's otherwise unharmed; nary a hair out of place. 

"Would you like to see your ghost?" he asks.

Will stands and crosses the room to where Hannibal is setting the box in front of the fireplace. He gently opens the cardboard flaps to reveal a family of owls.

"It seems you were scaring them nearly as much as they scared you," Hannibal explains. "There's a small hole in the roof which they must have entered through. I believe they intended to have a peaceful winter in armoire, but some strange sounds from below surprised them. Their wings beating the doors was the sound you heard."

Will flushes red in embarrassment. "What will we do with them?"

The mother looks healthy enough, but the babies are still tiny balls of fuzz, not yet old enough to do more than hop around. Will starts to reach out to touch one, but the mother snaps at him and he jerks away.

"They can live in the spare bedroom. I'll inquire in town if there is a wild life rescue we can turn them over to when the storm clears." 

Hannibal dusts off his hands. The owls have gone quiet, lulled by the warmth of the fire.

"Do you feel better?" Hannibal asks. 

Will nods, feeling incredibly stupid as he looks at the box. Hannibal steps closer and wraps his arms around him.

"Good," he murmurs, pressing his lips to Will's neck. "Because I intend to make you scream so loudly you won't be able to hear anything over the sound of your own voice."

Will shudders in his grasp. "Okay. But you might wanna put the birds in the other room anyways. Just in case."

Hannibal gives a long suffering sigh and picks up the box. The birds hoot softly on their way out.


End file.
